


we're so close (to something better left unknown)

by taywen



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Assassin!Martin, F/M, Gen, M/M, Overseer!Daud, Royal Spymaster!Daud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Daud prefers the knife, of course. No question. The tongue is its own weapon, and words have their uses, but there is something appealingly straightforward about the knife that Daud cannot deny.</i>
</p><p>Overseer, noble, god, witch, spymaster. Five lives Daud never lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. overseer

**Author's Note:**

> current chapter fills [this](http://dishonored-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/446.html?thread=467134#cmt467134) prompt on the kink meme!
> 
> this part's Daud/Martin but the rest will probably be gen or Corvo/Daud bc I'm Corvo/Daud trash for life hahahaaaaa _don't look at me_
> 
> title from Metric's "Gimme Sympathy" :')
> 
> (what are term papers what is responsibility they sound like terrible, terrible things)

( overseer )

Daud prefers the knife, of course. No question. The tongue is its own weapon, and words have their uses, but there is something appealingly straightforward about the knife that Daud cannot deny.

Overseers are meant to bring light to dark places, to drive out the influence of the Outsider and replace it with the teachings of the Abbey of the Everyman. Daud doesn’t particularly believe that – doesn’t particularly believe any of it, not the Seven Strictures nor the theology of the High Overseers nor even the prophecies of the Oracles – but one of his squad leaders once likened the Warfare Overseers to the blades of the Abbey, sallying forth to fight the darkness.

It’s a trite and overdone sentiment, yet Daud finds he can believe in that more than anything else; he doesn’t examine what that says about him too closely.

* * *

He has been a pirate, an assassin and a man of faith. The last one managed to stick, somehow, though it’s the skills he acquired from his life before that have brought him so far.

Men of the sea are particularly superstitious; with a capricious deity like the Outsider for a patron, they’d have to be. Daud knew what the Outsider’s mark looked like long before he joined the ranks of the Overseers.

When a man wearing Piero’s death mask over the trademark uniform of the Royal Protector and displaying the Outsider’s mark for anyone to see appears in the square, he feels a strange mixture of relief and exasperation. He leaves Havelock alone for a few days, and their assassin winds up branded by the Outsider?

Daud pretends not to notice, of course. He’s a killer himself, and has rubbed shoulders with enough of them to know that Corvo Attano is not one to be trifled with, especially in the condition Daud finds himself. He winces as he unfolds to his full height for the first time in too long, rubbing at chafed-raw skin and trying not to grimace.

Attano nods when Daud thanks him, but doesn’t speak. His hands curl and uncurl, and the mask moves continuously as Attano scans the surrounding area.

“Campbell has a black book that he keeps on his person at all times. It should contain Emily’s whereabouts, and a great deal more information that will be useful to our cause,” Daud says, cutting to the chase. He wants to leave the soaked square, and this restless, barely-leased phantom. He can’t say he regrets Jasper’s loss, but it does reveal something about the Loyalists’ assassin.

When Attano nods again, still not looking at him for more than a few seconds, Daud adds, “There’s a chain in the backyard that leads to the river. I’ll have Samuel meet you there.”

A third nod, and Attano sets off for the Office itself. Daud stretches, biting back a groan as his spine pops, and prepares himself for the journey down Clavering.

* * *

Attano corners him in the attic a couple of days later, shoving him bodily up against the brick wall. Daud grunts and forces himself to go limp.

“Is there a problem, Corvo?” Daud asks as blandly as he can manage, inwardly cursing himself for forgetting that the attic is now Attano’s domain. Daud used to come here when he was tired of hearing Pendleton’s whining or Havelock’s grandstanding; now it’s Attano’s.

“You were an assassin,” Attano says, speaking for the second time in Daud’s hearing. His voice is hoarse. “So why.”

“Past tense,” Daud says, after a moment’s shock. No one here should know about that; how Attano learned of it- Well, that damned mark must be the source. “An Overseer isn’t suited for subtlety. And the others don’t know about my past; I was content to leave it at that.”

Attano’s eyes narrow, and for a moment Daud entertains the thought that Attano will finally grant his wish and slit his worthless throat.

The moment passes.

“You’re a terrible Overseer,” Attano says instead.

“But I’ll be a competent High Overseer, and I’ll support Emily Kaldwin,” Daud says; the tongue is a weapon of its own, after all.

“Yes,” Attano says, “you will.” He shoves Daud back once more, then stalks over to the catwalk to bid Emily goodnight.

Daud massages his throat, then resigns himself to returning to the breach and suffering more of Pendleton and Havelock’s miserable company.

* * *

Daud’s been High Overseer for all of two hours when someone puts a sword to his throat. From what he can see of the crosshatched blade from the corner of his eye, he gathers it’s one of the so-called Whalers. Some of the higher Overseers have been pushing for a raid on their base in the Flooded District; Daud’s suspicious of “anonymous sources” tipping them off at such a fortuitous time. 

He tilts his head back, enough to get a glimpse of dark hair and cold eyes before the assassin’s other hand fists in his hair, pushing him forward again. Daud inhales at the bite of steel into his skin, but doesn’t otherwise react.

“High Overseer,” a smooth voice, with the barest hint of a Morlish accent, says.

“Morley must be proud,” Daud says, “that its assassins have taken out two of the past three rulers.”

The grip tightens punishingly, forcing his head forward at a more drastic angle; despite himself, Daud pushes back, some heretofore unrealized will to live asserting itself.

“Shut up.” The voice is furious now, the accent more pronounced. Daud allows himself to smirk.

The sword and grip on his hair disappear abruptly, and Teague Martin, the Knife of Dunwall, steps into view on silent feet.

Daud raises his eyebrows and inclines his head.

“To what,” he says sardonically, “do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“It’s not every day one ascends to High Overseer,” the heretic says, idly. Any outward traces of his earlier fury are well-hidden, but Daud knows it's as much of a facade as the face he shows the Abbey. Martin crosses his arms and leans a hip against the edge of Daud’s desk, looming forward slightly so Daud has to tilt his head back at an uncomfortable angle to hold his gaze. “And so quickly.”

“These are troubled times. Dunwall needs guidance. Someone deprived her of that guidance six months ago,” Daud adds, smiling thinly when Martin sucks in a breath at the last accusation.

“You fucking bastard,” Martin snaps, before mastering himself. “Were you in Dunwall this whole time?”

“I’ve gone on assignment a few times, to Whitecliff and other destinations within Gristol,” Daud says.

Martin narrows his eyes, his left hand twitching.

“Someone usurped me and I had to lay low _somewhere_ ,” Daud adds. “It’s rather similar to this current situation, though admittedly on a smaller scale.” He pushes his chair back, crossing his ankles with a smile. “Were you already marked when you betrayed me, Martin?”

“No,” Martin says; he seems earnest, but one can never tell with him. “No, that came- after.”

“There’s irony in there somewhere,” Daud says, smoothing a hand over the lines of his new red jacket. It’s nearly the same shade as Martin’s. His smirk returns full-force when Martin follows the path of his hand, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

"I'm not sure I follow," Martin lies, not meeting Daud's eyes.

“Come to congratulate me with a celebratory fuck?” Daud asks, abruptly tired of the posturing. “I’ll even keep the uniform on.”

Martin shudders and all but falls upon him, leather-clad thumb rasping over the scar he'd left over Daud’s eye the day he seized control of Daud's gang. He tastes like desperation and something darker; he groans when Daud strips off the glove and drags his tongue over the mark.

They end up on the bed, somehow; it’s black magic, obviously, but Daud doesn’t care. Martin makes a strangled noise when Daud fits his mouth over the mark and _bites_ , his hips jerking against Daud’s thigh.

“I hope,” Daud says, “that that’s not it.” Martin shivers at every brush of Daud’s lips against the back of his hand.

“Fuck you,” Martin says coherently.

“Can you even get it up again at your age?” Daud asks, shoving him off and fumbling for the oil in the bedside table.

“Shut the fuck up.” It would be more threatening if Martin didn’t still sound so dazed.

Daud hums and applies himself to the unnecessarily complicated layers that Martin’s clad himself in.

(He fucks Martin on his hands and knees, the traitor moaning like the whore he is, and he keeps the uniform on.)

* * *

He contemplates the glass, swirling the amber liquid to watch how the light plays across its surface as Havelock drones on and on. He’s half-tempted to down the lot just to escape from Havelock’s fucking monologue.

Pendleton’s already drained his; Daud glances at him disinterestedly, wondering when the poison will start to take effect. Will Havelock panic and attack Daud when the simpering nobleman starts to die?

“Havelock,” Daud says, his harsh voice cutting through Havelock’s grand words.

Pendleton blinks at him blearily across the table; Daud ignores him and turns to the head of the table, where Havelock’s starting to look uncomfortable. His gaze darts from the still-full glass in Daud’s hand to his face.

“Shut the fuck up and let me die in silence,” Daud says, and knocks the drink back before Havelock can ruin it with a reply.

* * *

Regret has been a constant companion for most of Daud’s life; it’s nothing more than background noise, at this point. All the same, he feels it more keenly now than he has in- years, surely, if it ever affected him so strongly. Regret for what, he doesn’t care to know; there’s certainly more than enough reasons in the past six months, never mind the rest of his life.

“I have one more surprise for you,” Daud says, as Attano stalks closer, his sword dripping blood; his uniform _soaked_ in it. Daud doubts even a fraction of it is Attano’s own; he wonders if any of it is Martin's. “I ask for my life.”

Attano’s gait falters; Daud wishes he could see Attano’s face. What would it be- disgust, disbelief, fury?

The barrel of the pistol is cold against his chin. He pulls the trigger even as Attano lunges forward with a hoarse snarl.

* * *

“In a different life you would have been interesting, for a time,” the Outsider tells Daud’s spirit when he passes into the Void.

Daud laughs in his face.


	2. noble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They say he’s a witch, or the get of a witch – they’re not picky with their accusations, and one’s nearly as good as the other, in the eyes of the Abbey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's rated T but yeah, Corvo/Daud like I said :')))

( duke )

They say he’s a witch, or the get of a witch – they’re not picky with their accusations, and one’s nearly as good as the other, in the eyes of the Abbey.

They say his mother was already pregnant when she appeared at court in Karnaca, bewitching the former Duke with her Outsider-granted powers, turning his ears from those who were _truly_ loyal.

They say he had the _true_ heir murdered while on a diplomatic visit to the empire’s capital, the fruition of a plan set into motion decades earlier by his witch-whore mother.

(None of these are true; at least, not _entirely_.

His mother was no witch: she never bore the Outsider’s mark, and her success was due entirely to her own merit.

He never asked if the Duke was truly his father. It didn’t matter, as far as he was concerned. He had no real interest in the title, though his mother would have given him the world had she the means of doing so.

Daud’s older, legitimate brother died in Dunwall, skewered with a ridiculous decoration torn from his ostentatious carriage; the killer escaped, disappeared, presumed dead. No one mourned her, and few truly mourned him.)

* * *

Daud doesn’t care what they say. He surrounds himself with those whose loyalty is to him, not to the rumours of power surrounding him, or the office that he happens to hold, however grudgingly. He surrounds himself with those who know when to hold their tongue, and when to speak.

The first is a sharp-eyed young man, a bastard like Daud himself. He slices his way to the top of the Blade Verbena, and cuts the distinctive furrow over Daud’s eye a few weeks after he’s commissioned to the Grand Guard, in a live spar.

The alluring, deadly concentration that had caught Daud’s eye in the first place is replaced by utter terror, then bewilderment, as Daud presses his empty hand to his face and _laughs_. None of the loyal guards fight him seriously, too afraid of hurting the bastard son and killing their chances of advancement; and the ones who do are in his brother’s pocket, flimsy attempts to eliminate his more talented younger sibling.

Daud waves away the concern, silences any voices who call for _dishonorable discharge_ , and secures Corvo as the head of his private guard.

Others follow, idealistic nobles that Daud suffers because he knows he cannot survive without them, street children desperate for a bit of kindness, disgraced academics who fail out of the Academy of Natural Philosophy, and so on.

Then the Outsider appears in his dreams, all cryptic shadows and menacing taunts.

Daud wrenches himself free from the vision, and finds his hand marked indelibly, no matter how he scrubs at the dark, damning lines. He freezes when Corvo enters the room without knocking, and only makes matters worse when he tries to hide the brand.

Corvo takes it in with a slow blink, then meets Daud’s gaze calmly. “Gloves will be in season this year,” he says, and goes to Daud’s wardrobe to find something suitable.

Daud’s riding on a disbelieving relief that breaks through all his careful self-control when he pins Corvo against the wall and bites at his mouth, hands fisting in the lapels of his uniform. It crashes around him when Corvo tenses up, but then the guard’s pushing back, giving as good as he gets, and Daud can almost forget this latest complication in his life.

* * *

His brother dies a few years later, leaving Daud the only heir. That’s when the rumours really pick up, but he pays them no mind and quietly has his men in Dunwall pick up the killer: a thin, tough girl who throws herself at Daud with a fury he’s rarely seen when she arrives in Karnaca.

He assumes the throne five years later, when the Duke finally dies. It was more than enough time to secure his position as the heir, and he’d been ruling in everything but name for nearly that long before the Duke succumbed to his illness.

The Empress invites Daud to attend her in Dunwall. He’s tempted to refuse; the Abbey has a much stronger hold in Gristol, and he has yet to find a way around the limitations imposed by those damned music boxes.

He goes because he must, bringing Corvo and Billie with him as his primary guards. Corvo had declined to take the mark, for various reasons, but Billie can use its powers with almost the same proficiency as Daud himself. With the two of them at his side, Daud can't imagine anything untoward happening.

The Empress is a decade younger than Daud, and has been ruling for nearly as long. She’s beautiful, and subtly terrifying and both Billie and Corvo, despite their vehement protests to the contrary when he mentions it, are absolutely smitten with her.

“She has a child,” Daud points out.

“There’s no father in the picture, though,” Corvo says at the same time as Billie goes, “Yeah, that’s not a problem for me.”

They exchange cold glares, and Daud manages to restrain himself from laughing at them both, somehow.

“You’d have to avoid that Royal Protector, in any regard,” Daud adds, and this does seem to perturb them.

The Empress’ Royal Protector stands ever at her right hand, posture military-perfect- or Abbey-perfect, rather. Daud knows it’s the latter, and he smiles and mouths along with the Strictures as demanded. He wonders how someone with such an obviously Morlish name got the appointment; if it was how the Empress had weathered her young rule, with the support of the Abbey.

Billie and Corvo both try to pretend Martin doesn’t exist, and Daud pretends he’s not laughing at their pathetic attempts; he’s not a cruel ruler, after all. He’d be upset at how down his guards are when they board the ship back to Karnaca, if he weren’t so amused.

* * *

The plague hits Dunwall a few years later. The Empress sends her Royal Protector to petition for aid; Daud would help her, if he could, but there’s not much he can do and he doesn’t want the plague to spread to his own country.

“You should help them,” Corvo says earnestly the night that Martin arrives, because despite the shit he’s been through and witnessed, both before and in service to Daud, he’s still a bit naïve like that. It shouldn’t be endearing, and Daud quashes the affection that rises in his chest.

“And how would I do that?”

Corvo shrugs. “You’re the duke, not me.”

Daud snorts and pins Corvo to the bed, and they don’t talk about the Empress or Dunwall or the plague for the rest of the night.

He sends a team of volunteer natural philosophers to Dunwall with Martin, an eccentric and brilliant man named Piero Joplin among them, and pointedly ignores the disgusted looks that Billie gives him behind Corvo’s back (as if she hadn't hinted that Daud should help the Empress as well, if not so blatantly as Corvo) where the obviously pleased captain of the guard can’t see.


	3. god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The vast eternity of the Void throbs like a pulse, the eerie red light emanating from everywhere and nowhere casting everything in shades of blood._

( god )

The vast eternity of the Void throbs like a pulse, the eerie red light emanating from everywhere and nowhere casting everything in shades of blood.

The first time Lev finds himself in that disorienting space, he thinks he’s actually _dead_ ; it’s amusing, and the Knife has to fight the smirk that wants to make itself known for the first time in-

A very long time.

He watches the boy – a young man, really, not that the Knife bothers to keep track of such reckonings – wander the series of islands, but the mundane turn of his thoughts (wondering if he was in _hell_ , of all things) soon bores the Knife, so he appears before Lev without fanfare. He detests that kind of empty showmanship.

“You’re not dead,” the Knife says, his voice like sandpaper to Lev’s poor, overwhelmed, _mortal_ senses.

Lev throws himself off the island into the murky water. He realizes a few seconds later that it’s actually _blood_ , thick and cloying on his tongue, and he drowns himself awake, body aching from the beating meted out by the butchers a few hours before.

(His mouth will taste of blood for days, no matter how many times he tries to wash it away, and he'll know it wasn't from where he'd bitten through his cheek.)

The Knife sighs, the islands sinking beneath the ocean of blood, and goes to watch Lizzy Stride. She’s still young, but there is potential simmering beneath the surface; she reminds the Knife of someone he knew long ago, and he’s not entirely certain if he cares for the reminder – but he watches her all the same.

By all accounts, Lev should bore him. The Knife has little interest in academia, the venue that Lev has chosen for his advancement, mainly because he knows everything those little natural philosophers could ever hope to discover.

But Lev is not motivated by ambition; he cares nothing for personal advancement, and his area of study is, essentially, career suicide. Whale oil powers Dunwall’s industrial revolution, and no amount of hushed-up papers written by an increasingly desperate man about the family units and higher intelligence of the beasts is going to change that.

The desperate man himself, though. He could change things, with the right tools at his disposal. Towards the end of his life, there is a forty percent probability that he will uncover a lucrative, non-lethal alternative to whale oil; if the Knife lends him a fraction of his own abilities-?

A high chance that Dunwall will burn.

The Knife likes those fierce, short-lived colours; the lives of his chosen few are always the same, burning like pyres, usually in beautiful shades of crimson and gold before the Void consumes them.

Lev will be an entertaining enough diversion while the Knife waits for others to come into their own. His actions will surely have repercussions for all the interesting ones: Lizzy Stride, Billie Lurk, Corvo Attano.

The second time Lev visits the Void, the Knife burns his mark into the pupil of Lev’s right eye, visible only in complete darkness or when Lev chooses to activate his powers.

Lev- surprises him, and not in a pleasant way. He’s unexpectedly subtle, a slow burn when the Knife wants _explosions_ and excitement and the Knife stops appearing to him within a few years. What galls the most is that Lev seems not to care: he does not go to increasingly desperate and volatile lengths in an attempt to see the Knife again, like so many others before him. For all that the deity is very much done with that kind of thing now, after countless people he has marked and subsequently abandoned, the absence of such tedious theatrics is somehow even more galling.

The Knife focuses on his other chosen instead.

* * *

“Damn,” Lizzy says, her voice reverberating strangely around the Void. A shaky exhale is the only indication of discomfort after receiving the Knife’s mark. She stares at her own distorted reflection in the blood, then shakes her head and stands. “Was hoping that rot ‘bout the Knife being a man was just some Overseer shit.”

The Knife can’t quite stifle his amusement. He is a man as much as the Void is a place: in only the barest sense. He’d show Lizzy what his more primal avatar resembles, but she has never seen the books about Pandyssia and its lethal feline predators.

Then again-

She flickers into existence on the furthest island and picks up the Heart without squeamishness, or even hesitation. An unearthly voice reminiscent of her mutinous first mate whispers into the otherwise empty air, and Lizzy throws back her head and laughs, sharp nails digging carelessly into the reanimated, mechanized flesh.

“Damn,” she says, again, when she wakes up. Unlike some, she has no doubts that the strange ‘dream’ was real; what captures her imagination is the deadly panther that had appeared instead of the Knife’s human avatar, his rough words spoken directly into her mind: a suggestion to search out the rough stone blades that his followers use to channel his power.

It takes her a few months, or a few years, to acquire an ocean-faring vessel; the Knife doesn’t track time that closely, content to watch his chosen few.

Lizzy Stride and her Dead Eels wash up on the Pandyssian shore not long after, the first of his chosen to land on what was once his birthplace in centuries, surely.

The Knife rewards her with a myriad of lethal and interesting powers when she finds old caches of the stone knives that his chosen use to channel his powers, or the cobbled chips of bronze and stone that can enhance a human’s natural attributes.

* * *

Billie takes to the Knife’s mark like none have before, carving a place for herself in Dunwall’s underworld before she reaches twenty years of age. The world is not kind to women, but she makes a name for herself all the same, assembling a gang of misfits into the most deadly group of assassins that Dunwall has ever seen.

She has the audacity to kill Jessamine Kaldwin, an outcome that the Knife had not even considered viable, it was so unlikely, and Corvo Attano takes the fall. Then she turns on Burrows, and installs the bastard Delilah Copperspoon on the throne instead, trotting little Emily Kaldwin out to appease the masses.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Lurk,” the Knife tells her when she deigns to attend one of his shrines.

Billie bares her teeth at him, defiant to the hilt. She does not (cannot) say it, but she thinks it anyway: _It’s the only game worth playing, old man_.

The Knife snorts and disappears; Billie kicks over the makeshift altar and leaves, turning the stone knife over and over in her gloved hands.

He looks in on the others – Lizzy and her pirates, Lev and his whales, Corvo and his fury.

He marks Corvo that night, and can only watch in impotent disbelief as Billie breaks into Coldridge (for all that she doesn’t _have to_ , as Copperspoon’s new Royal Protector) and kills Corvo before he can make use of his new powers.

The sheer temerity of it shocks him. That he might have been anticipated is- inconceivable. The Void shudders and darkens with his wrath, and the pathetic dregs of humanity that still worship in vain at his shrines tremble when the stone blades shatter and the cobbled charms crumble.

Billie doesn’t laugh in his face when he appears in her dream, but only because she cannot do anything but listen to him.

“That girl will hate you when she finds out what you’ve done,” the Knife says.

They’re hollow words: they both know that Emily Kaldwin will never discover that Billie killed both her parents.

* * *

Billie tracks Lev down a few months later, and kills him too. The rest of his chosen follow, despite the Knife’s warnings, until only Lizzy and Billie remain in this part of the world.

He means it when he tells Lizzy, “She’ll kill you,” after she boards her ship to return to Gristol.

Lizzy grins when he fades away from the shrine she maintains aboard her ship. “It’ll be a good fight, anyway,” she says to the open air.

Despite himself, the Knife finds that he’s looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was going to name the Outsider Otis but then behindthename.com told me Lev means “heart” in Hebrew so
> 
> ~*~the more you know*~*


	4. witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Daud’s mother whispers secrets in her ear: Life on Pandyssia, her journey at sea, the truth of her “witchcraft” – a blend of poison and ruthless cunning – and how a girl can survive in a world that is unforgiving to women. She never mentions Daud’s father, and Daud doesn’t ask. She doesn’t care._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may have expected this to be the royal protector!Daud section. it is not and I am sorry. that is still forthcoming, but it spiralled way out of control and it’ll be posted as a separate fic. the last chapter of this particular fic will be royal spymaster!Daud, or possibly some other roleswap, I haven't decided yet. (open to suggestions though!)
> 
> onto the notes for this section:  
> I’d initially considered swapping Delilah and Daud’s roles but when I tried to write it I couldn’t even think about it seriously so instead you get this, sorry(??)
> 
> (I just… couldn’t imagine Daud……… wanting to possess Emily it just didn’t make sense to me I’m sorry and if I’d done f!Daud for it I feel like it would’ve been a rehash of Delilah’s story. tho for the record Delilah would make a badass assassin but like I can’t see her feeling regret for it either so yeah what's even the point then)

( witch )

The boys at school whisper about Daud’s mother behind her back. _Witch_ , they say, and _whore_ , and _heretic_. Daud splits her knuckles open on their faces, their startled cries of fear and pain music to her ears. She looks at the blood on her hands as the teacher’s lecture falls on deaf ears, and doesn’t regret it one bit. She does it again, gladly, every time they whisper _witch_ except now they mean _Daud_.

Daud’s mother whispers secrets in her ear as she bandages Daud’s hands. Life on Pandyssia, her journey at sea, the truth of her “witchcraft” – a blend of poison and ruthless cunning – and how a girl can survive in a world that is unforgiving to women. She never mentions Daud’s father, and Daud doesn’t ask. She doesn’t care.

The girls at school whisper about Daud behind her back. _Witch_ , they say, but they fall silent and quail when Daud glares at them. The boys come over, probably thinking to rescue them or something equally stupid. Daud’s knuckles don’t split when she fights now (the skin is rough and weathered, nothing like the softness of the other girls’) and the teacher kicks her out of class for a week this time.

 _The other girls are so weak_ , Daud thinks.

When Daud whispers as much, furious, her mother gives her such a disappointed look that Daud turns away, unable to hold her gaze.

“That is how they survive, Daud,” her mother says. “People lie all the time.”

* * *

Her mother dies when Daud is fourteen, and Daud moves to the city. She pretends to be a boy for a couple of years, her naturally low voice and relatively flat chest easing the way. She joins a gang, learns how to use a knife, how to pick a lock, how to drink and other useful skills.

Then they find out she’s a girl so Daud runs, stowing away aboard a merchant vessel bound for Dunwall.

Halfway through the voyage she wakes up with a mark burned into the back of her hand and a scream strangled in the back of her throat.

* * *

Daud makes a quiet name for herself amongst the women of Dunwall. In the beginning, enterprising gangs try to secure her services; after a few of them die from poison or lethal, perfect slit throats, they leave her alone. She kills Esma Boyle’s scummy husband, and disposes of Timothy Brisby, and provides safe contraceptive potions and other concoctions for a tidy fee to the rich.

(She hands them out to the working girls and any others in need for free.)

When she has the time, she dresses like a man and sits in on lectures at the Academy.

“A moment, Miss,” Anton Sokolov says after one such lecture, reaching out briefly as if he means to grab her. He pauses, reconsidering, then drops his hand back to his side. “I’d like to speak to you, if you have the time.”

Daud looks him over warily. She knows about his predilections – everyone does – but he has the same focused look on his face as the one he wears when he lectures about Pandyssia. “Fine,” she says, and is a bit surprised to learn that he wants to paint her portrait.

It’s- stupid, but she agrees.

Her reputation’s been growing steadily, and business picks up after that. She has less time to spend lurking at the backs of lecture halls. Then she takes an apprentice, a tough girl who reminds Daud entirely too much of herself for all their differences, and after that she has no time for things beyond her chosen vocation at all.

* * *

“You’re not very ambitious,” the Outsider says, pointedly, when Daud’s exhausted the stock of runes that aren’t to be found at his surprisingly numerous shrines.

Daud wonders what he expected, then remembers that she doesn’t care what any man thinks of her, divine or otherwise.

The Outsider cocks his head, his fathomless eyes boring into her. “I would have expected you to use your gifts to improve things for yourself and others like you.”

It’s a taunt, but that’s not what makes Daud’s temper flare: He says _gifts_ like the mark was a choice, like he hadn’t forced it upon her without her consent.

“Ah,” the Outsider says. “I hadn’t considered- It’s not a choice for anyone.”

As if that makes it better.

Daud’s glad when he finally shuts up and leaves her be. She tucks the rune away to add to her stash, and vows to avoid the shrines in the future, if at all possible; she prefers poison and steel than arcane rituals, in any case. Most outcomes can be achieved with resorting to witchcraft, and if there is a specific case where witchcraft is necessary, as far as Daud’s concerned it should be avoided anyway.

* * *

There are others with the mark in Dunwall, of course.

The first she meets is an old, half-mad wreck of a noblewoman who attacks Daud out of some jealous claim over her “black-eyed groom” when they cross paths. Daud kills her instinctively, and spends hours trying to wash the blood off her hands afterward. It’s not the first time she’s killed, but somehow it’s- different.

The next is an even older witch who wants nothing to do with Daud when she asks to learn how to use her powers, but Daud is persistent, and an apt pupil, and the witch grudgingly teaches her what she can before she dies.

Then, the Outsider marks an ambitious young thing who comes to Daud for long enough to sneer over her methods before departing to raise a coven in the ruins of Brigmore manor.

The last is a young boy from the slums, but he dies within days of receiving the mark.

Delilah is the only other person with the mark left in Dunwall, so when the Void _shudders_ a few months – half a year, perhaps – after the plague settles in, Daud assumes it’s her doing and gives it no further thought.

The rumours reach her quickly.

Empress Jessamine Kaldwin is not one to order deaths lightly, so the sudden purges are striking. Burrows, the Pendletons, other nobles and high-ranking officers in all branches of the military, the High Overseer himself. The Abbey is gutted by a fervent witch hunt within its own ranks. Whole districts are burned to root out the plague.

Daud can approve of destabilizing the Abbey, and appointing women to her cabinet and other important positions; it’s not as if Empress Jessamine hadn’t pushed noble sensibility when she named Corvo Attano her Royal Protector, after all. But the rest of it? There’s no way that the Empress would condone such measures, and yet.

“It shouldn’t worry you,” the Outsider says with a smile that is entirely too wide when she visits a shrine after news of Emily Kaldwin’s disappearance reaches her. “Would I lie to you?”

Daud kicks over the altar when he disappears, ignoring Billie’s startled question.

“Look into Delilah,” she says. “Say you’re tired of my methods, or whatever you think will get you inside. Go to one of her subordinates; don’t let on that you know she’s possessed the Empress, and work your way up from there.”

* * *

The Royal Protector – _former_ Royal Protector – finds her a week after his ill-fated return to Dunwall. Empress Delilah had dismissed him for failing to bring better news from the rest of the Empire.

“Witch,” the heart whispers, and Daud’s hands twitch at her sides. It takes all of her not-inconsiderable self-control to resist snatching the cursed thing from Attano’s hands and crushing it beneath her boots. The force of her anger drowns out the rest of what the heart has to say about her.

“Please,” Attano says, the word flavoured Serkonan. She hasn’t heard that accent in years, and it draws Daud up short. “I need your help.”

Daud looks at the heart beating languidly in his marked, bare hand and snorts. “Sure you do.”

Attano looks so lost, his handsome face lined with despair and desperation. “I need to find Emily.”

“Your daughter?” Daud asks, not that she particularly cares. It’s not Emily’s _father_ who matters.

“No,” Attano says- _lies_. His gaze flicks away from her and he licks his lips and he’s such a horrible liar that for a moment, Daud can only stare at him in disbelief because- _how_ did someone like this last as Royal Protector for so long?

“I won’t be able to bring Jessamine back,” Daud says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Attano flinches, but he doesn’t look terribly surprised at the information, and he doesn’t try to protest. Not a complete idiot, then.

“I don’t need the gold, so you’ll have to repay me in favours,” she continues, “to be determined and called upon at my discretion, with the caveat that they will not endanger Lady Emily in any way.”

Attano looks down at the heart. Daud slaps his hand aside before he can use the thing on her once more.

“And you won’t use that on me or the deal’s off,” she adds.

Attano licks his lips again, and carefully tucks the heart into his pocket. “Agreed,” he says, proving what a total idiot he really is.

They shake hands, then Attano stands there awkwardly, as if his initiative had only extended to finding someone with the expertise to take on Delilah.

Daud doesn’t roll her eyes, somehow. Instead, she says, “I hope no one’s seen that,” and looks pointedly at his hand.

“… No?”

“Well,” Daud says, silently cursing herself for being drawn in by a pretty, desperate face, “you’ll need a pair of gloves first.”

* * *

Waverly Boyle’s waiting for them when they break into the Boyle Manor.

Her gaze darts to Attano for a moment, then settles on Daud. “Lydia’s been killed,” she tells Daud, her eyes red rimmed but dry. “If this is your doing-”

“If this were my doing, you wouldn’t know Lydia’s death was anything unnatural,” Daud says.

Waverly scoffs. “You’ll kill the ones who did this?”

Attano makes a soft sound of protest, but he closes his mouth when Daud glares at him sidelong.

“Yes,” Daud says.

Waverly smiles grimly. “What do you need to know?”

Daud smiles back. “You can start with the location of Emily Kaldwin.”

After, Attano stares at her with wide eyes as they make their way through the sewers towards her latest safe house.

Daud kicks him into a nest of river krust and watches with mild interest as he fights his way back out, emerging relatively unscathed.

“You should practice with those windblasts,” Daud says when he staggers to her side. “I have some runes, maybe you can improve it.”

“Right,” Attano says, fiddling with a frayed sleeve, and keeps his eyes to himself for the rest of the trip.

* * *

“Outsider’s eyes,” Billie says when they walk in. She looks at Daud like Attano’s mere presence is a betrayal.

“Shut it,” Daud says. “What did you find out about Delilah?”

Billie blows out a sigh and rattles off the facts: former childhood companion of Jessamine, brief stint as Sokolov’s apprentice, controls her subjects through her paintings, possibly the by-blow of Euhorn Kaldwin himself.

Attano makes a pained noise at the last, and blinks away.

“I know you like your men desperate,” Billie says, and leaves it at that, the judgemental brat.

“I said shut it,” Daud says. “Or should I mention Thalia Ti-”

“ _All right_ ,” Billie says hurriedly, “go confirm Emily Kaldwin’s location, got it.”

* * *

Despite what she told Waverly Boyle, it leaves a bit of a sour taste in Daud’s mouth all the same. She tries to respect the lengths to which others will go to survive, but- needlessly trampling on so many people to get ahead is something Daud can’t condone.

They rescue Emily, and take out a few of the stronger witches, the ones Delilah appointed to the most important posts.

Daud’s the one who kills Delilah. Attano hesitates when Delilah looks up at him with Jessamine’s eyes, a breathy “Corvo-” drawing him up short.

Daud has no such compunction, and shoots her with a dart loaded with a fast-acting, nearly untraceable poison.

“Come on,” Daud says. “We need to go.”

He doesn’t move, his eyes riveted on Jessamine’s corpse.

“Attano,” Daud says, then, “ _Corvo_ ,” when that doesn’t work.

Attano flinches, looking at her in surprise. “You’ve never used my name before,” he says. “Everyone else does.”

“Billie doesn’t,” Daud says, crossing her arms. Billie calls him _idiot_ or _you_ sometimes prefaced with _hey_ if she’s feeling charitable or, mockingly, _Lord Protector_. Thank the Outsider that she’d had to stay behind to watch Emily, or she’d probably be mocking Daud relentlessly. Then again, that might be preferable to- this.

Attano isn’t fazed. He just looks at her, and Daud has to fight the urge to look away first.

“Let’s _go_ ,” Daud says, turning and stalking towards the exit without waiting for a reply. If it at all resembles running away, it's only because she doesn't want to be implicated in the murder of the Empress, nothing more.

* * *

Attano shows up at the Tower with Emily the next day, and she’s crowned within the week.

The people are so eager to have Emily Kaldwin on the throne that they don’t even protest when her first act as Empress is to appoint Daud as her Royal Spymaster.

“What,” Daud says, and tries to suggest someone else- Waverly, perhaps?

Emily ignores her, and Cor- Attano looks so happy for once that Daud gives up and accepts.

A few months later, over the daily tea that the Empress insists upon, Emily gravely tells her, “I won’t call you Mother.”

Billie spits her mouthful of biscuit all over the table; luckily she’s the only other person present.

“Manners,” Daud says, stomping on Billie’s foot. She turns back to Emily, pointedly ignoring Billie’s muffled laughter. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I’m your Spymaster.”

Emily sets her teacup aside delicately, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You like Corvo. Corvo likes you. I don’t see why you can’t be Corvo’s- _companion_ too.”

“Is that what it’s called?” Billie muses, and grunts when Daud crushes her toes again.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Daud says.

Emily hums and changes the subject, gracious in victory.

* * *

Corvo really does look good desperate, is the thing. He looks even better with his wrists tied to the headboard, his face flushed, his breath hitching as Daud rides him into the bed.

“Please,” he says hoarsely.

Daud grins down at him. “Not yet,” she tells him, laughing when he _whines_ , and doesn’t let up at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway like I said: open to suggestions for the final roleswap!


	5. spymaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I don’t trust you,” Corvo informs Daud on his first day on the job. He doesn’t add_ you bastard _but it’s implied in his tone and the expression on his face._
> 
>  _“A sensible position for the Royal Protector,” Daud says, giving Corvo his best_ fuck you _smile, the one he reserves for the most irritating clients._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to the timeline in _The Dunwall Archives_ , Burrows was appointed seven years before the events of canon. in this AU, Daud gets the job at that time instead

( spymaster )

People protested when Jessamine appointed him, of course, even more vociferously than they had when Jessamine had appointed Corvo her Royal Protector. He’d already been one Serkonan too many in the circle of the Empress-to-be; having Daud as her Spymaster? Unthinkable.

She ignored them all, of course. How could she do otherwise, when Daud brought her such damning evidence concerning her top choice for Spymaster? After she’d had Corvo quietly verify everything, she’d summoned him to the Tower and offered him the position instead.

“Why are you doing this?” Jessamine asks, after Daud accepts.

He glances at the Royal Protector, who watches him with undisguised suspicion. Jessamine is much more difficult to read; her steady gaze is somehow more unnerving than Corvo’s glare.

“Anything you say to me will not leave this room,” Jessamine says. She seems sincere, but anyone can lie.

“Well,” Daud says, shrugging, “as I’m sure you know, I’m an assassin. But that life has lost its appeal. This was an acceptable alternative, given my particular skillset and experience.”

“You _were_ an assassin,” Jessamine says, not batting so much as an eyelash. “You will not conduct that sort of business without my explicit permission any longer. The same goes for your- subordinates.”

“So you do intend to order me to kill people at some point.” Not that Daud has a problem with that, but he had been under the impression that the Empress was a different sort than the rest of Dunwall’s aristocracy.

“In the event that such actions become inevitable, yes. I hope it will not come to that, however.”

Daud nods. “Understood."

"There's more to it than that," Jessamine says, canting her head slightly. At her side, Corvo goes from wary to dangerous, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade.

"There is one other reason,” Daud admits. He peels off his glove and shows her the mark. Corvo stiffens, but Jessamine simply studies it, then him. “My- benefactor, shall we say, was losing interest in me. I believe serving you may renew that interest.”

Jessamine nods. “Very well. I’ll make the appointment official tomorrow.”

* * *

“I don’t trust you,” Corvo informs Daud on his first day on the job, catching the new Spymaster in the hallway outside the meeting room. He doesn’t add _you bastard_ but it’s implied in his tone and the expression on his face.

“A sensible position for the Royal Protector,” Daud says, giving Corvo his best _fuck you_ smile, the one he reserves for the most irritating clients, as he steps past the looming bodyguard.

“Oh, it’s you,” Sokolov says when Daud enters the meeting room.

“So nice to see you, Dr. Sokolov,” Daud says. He bows to the other occupant of the room as Corvo circles around to stand at her side. “Empress Jessamine.”

“Are the two of you acquainted?” Jessamine asks, her gaze flicking briefly to Sokolov before settling on Daud. She gestures for him to sit across from her, so he does.

“I spent a season or two at the Academy in my youth,” Daud says. “Dr. Sokolov was good enough to paint my portrait.”

“You were an interesting subject,” Sokolov says. “Your asymmetrical features were difficult to capture faithfully.”

“Thank you,” Daud says drily.

“Anton studies the Void and the Outsider,” Jessamine says. “I want you to work with him to set up supernatural protections within the Tower. Discreetly, of course. I don’t want the Abbey receiving any word of this.”

“Daud’s interests lay in Pandyssia – related to the Void, but hardly rendering him an expert of my calibre,” Sokolov says, sounding mildly offended at the thought of working with a supposed amateur.

Daud tries to convey with his eyes that he doesn’t want some Outsider-obsessed fanatic knowing about the mark, but Jessamine either does not understand or else ignores him. The latter, he’s sure.

“Daud has been marked by the Outsider,” she tells Sokolov.

“ _You_?!”

Daud tries not to wince at the avaricious glint in Sokolov’s eye.

* * *

He expects a lot of things; most of those expectations are dashed within a week of assuming the role of Spymaster. Most notably: Jessamine is not terribly devout, though she can make a convincing show of it to Campbell or any other Overseers when she needs to; but she’s willing to employ magic without qualms. Corvo remains suspicious, of course, so that’s something Daud got right.

Another thing that Daud does not expect: the _astonishing_ amount of meetings. Parliamentary sessions, meetings with Jessamine’s Privy Council, meetings with his informants, meetings with his Whalers, casually-engineered meetings in the corridor so Corvo can make vague threats and remind Daud that he doesn’t trust him.

So many meetings. If Daud didn’t spar with Corvo so often he’d be afraid of losing his edge.

“Yeah, those damn poor people,” Daud deadpans a few months in, when some noble or other – they all look vaguely the same, dressed in the latest fashion with only different colours to tell them apart – asks Daud his opinion on Jessamine’s latest initiative to help Dunwall’s lowest classes. “Someone should probably just import a boatload of plague rats and infect the lot of them.”

“Really?” the nobleman gasps, but he seems more surprised than offended or outraged, which says a lot about the relative intelligence and morality of the average aristocrat- and none of it good. It could be a result of the inbreeding, Daud would have to ask Sokolov for his thoughts on the matter the next time the Royal Physician stopped in to harangue him about the Outsider.

“Of course not,” Daud snaps, barely resisting the urge to massage his temples. “I can think of ten ways that would go wrong off the top of my head!”

“Daud,” Jessamine says mildly, so Daud leans back in his seat and sticks to the usual script when other members of Parliament try to bait him into saying even worse.

The papers the next day blare SPYMASTER SAYS LOWER CLASSES SHOULD DIE OF PLAGUE across the front page, above an unflattering caricature of his face that is really only recognizable from the distinctive scar.

Daud narrows his eyes when Billie brings a copy to him and vows to ruin that miserable nobleman’s life. Jessamine sighs, deceptively delicate, and Corvo looks torn between condemnation (because _how dare_ Daud cause problems for the Empress) and amusement that Daud fucked up.

There are, of course, _even more meetings_ to deal with said fuck up. The Outsider appears to Daud in his dreams a few times, just to mock him for it, so at least he’s staying interesting for now.

* * *

Daud doesn’t look up when the door to his office opens without warning – probably Corvo, come to push him about some matter of security or other; everyone else has the courtesy to knock.

When no vague threats (less common, now that Daud’s been Spymaster for a few years) or terse greetings are forthcoming, Daud glances around the room, surprised to find it empty.

Or- not entirely. Someone, a very young someone, is crouched under the desk that Daud had set up for Billie, though his second is out at the moment. He can see small black shoes and white stockings in the small gap between desk and floor.

“Hide and seek, is it?” Daud says blandly. “I thought it was time for someone’s lessons.”

“Sums are boring,” Emily says. “Now, shh!”

Daud shakes his head and returns to his reports, glancing up every so often to ensure that Emily isn’t looking through the papers on Billie’s desk, or exploring the drawers. There could be weapons or spare canisters of dust in there, after all; he might not know what to do with children, but he can manage that much.

Within ten minutes, the door opens again, admitting the Royal Protector. Daud raises his eyebrows, and Corvo actually has the grace to look embarrassed.

“Have you seen Emily?” he asks stiffly.

Daud leans back, setting his pen aside. He makes a show of thoughtfulness, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Lady Emily? Young girl, dressed in white-? No, I can’t say that I have,” he says, smirking openly when Corvo narrows his eyes.

Emily giggles, muffled but audible.

“Goodness,” Daud says gravely. “Did you hear that, Lord Corvo?”

Corvo rolls his eyes and makes for the desk. Emily shrieks with laughter as Corvo scoops her up in his arms and carries her out. She waves to Daud, who returns the action bemusedly, before Corvo shuts the door behind them.

* * *

Jessamine’s lips thin when Daud brings her the evidence of Burrows’ plot five years into his tenure as Spymaster.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t made that stupid remark when you were first appointed,” she tells him, tapping the helpfully underlined _PLAGUE RATS FROM PANDYSSIA_ near the top of the report. Daud will have to thank Thomas for illuminating the salient details so diligently.

“I also said that there were a hundred ways such a plot would go wrong,” Daud says, unable to keep the faintly plaintive note from his voice. “No one ever remembers that part.”

Corvo snorts.

“I don’t think threats will be enough,” Jessamine says, distinctly unamused. “If they’re willing to go to these lengths, if they think they can attack _my people_? Kill them.”

Daud blinks, surprised in spite of himself. He’d predicted that he would have to convince Jessamine of the necessity of killing the conspirators; once again, she exceeds his expectations. “Of course. The entire family-? The youngest Pendleton would likely be more tractable.” There was little love lost between the twins and their other sibling.

“Eliminate those directly involved: Burrows and Timsh and the Pendleton twins and Campbell. Be especially careful with the last. The others will be dealt with.”

Daud bows and goes to make the necessary preparations.

* * *

Waverly Boyle invites him for a private dinner a few weeks after Daud’s finished taking out the conspirators.

“Interesting art,” Daud says politely, glancing at the portrait of Waverly hanging behind the head of the table, above where the woman herself sits. The composition seems unusual, though Daud is hardly an expert; the style is more abstract than he’s accustomed to seeing, but it’s a nice change from the wide landscapes of the city, or the frozen scenes of whaling ships that seem to adorn the walls of anyone with moderate wealth.

“Yes,” Waverly says, her gloved fingers curling delicately around the stem of her wineglass. “The style is much more imaginative than the old guard- Sokolov and his ilk.”

Daud sips at his own wine. “I’ll bow to your superior experience in that arena,” he says.

Waverly smiles. “So you disagree.”

“I’m not much for art,” Daud admits.

“Ah, but Sokolov has painted your portrait twice now, has he not? Your official portrait and an earlier one- _The Parabola of Lost Seasons_ , wasn’t it?”

“Not many people know of that one.”

Waverly shrugs. “I used to be a fan of Sokolov. Without him, I would never have found the work of his apprentice.”

“The same apprentice who did your portrait?” Daud asks politely.

“Mm. I heard she left the city, however,” Waverly says. “A pity; she could have done the Empress great justice. Sokolov’s portrait of Her Majesty is rather uninspired.”

“A portrait in this style would certainly be a refreshing change from the traditional art of the Tower,” Daud says. He sets the glass aside, tired of the politely stilted conversation. Art is of little interest to him, and he hadn’t been aware that Waverly felt differently.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” he asks.

“Yes,” Waverly says. “I would like to work more closely with the Empress, particularly in regards to Parliament. I think women should be allowed to hold seats and vote; we’ve had plenty of Empresses, so why not extend that equality to the other venerable institutions of Gristol?”

“The Empress would, of course, be interested in working with people she can trust,” Daud says. “Your recent association with Burrows-”

“Frankly, Spymaster, you’re not a woman,” Waverly says, any pretence of politeness gone. “We must resort to different means to survive.”

Daud raises his eyebrows. “I’ll mention it,” he says. “Whether Her Majesty chooses to act upon this or not is out of my hands.”

Waverly smiles, the picture of a put together heiress again. “I would appreciate it.”

* * *

“I have a gift for you, my old friend,” the Outsider tells him that night. “It’s a mystery, and it starts with a name: Delilah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: also if you are looking for royal protector!Daud and assassin!Corvo please follow the link to _staring shadows in the eye_ :')

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [staring shadows in the eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621894) by [taywen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen)




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